Ambush
by Thaddottir
Summary: Emma ran blindly through the forest. She and Hook had been ambushed by a group of Lost Boys, and they had been hilariously outnumbered. Even with Hook's 300 years experience in wielding a sword, there was no defeating the dozen ruthless boys that surrounded them.


**Based on a prompt from Peaceheather: "Emma & Hook encounter lost boys. Emma escapes to ship believing Hook was killed in fight. Hook, captured, is led to believe (shown something?) that Emma was killed. After a couple days torment/interrogation, whatever, they dump him on the beach, where Snow and Co find him, badly injured." Posted on Tumblr a few weeks ago, and I realized I never posted it here.**

**—**

Emma ran blindly through the forest. She and Hook had been ambushed by a group of Lost Boys, and they had been _hilariously_ outnumbered. Even with Hook's 300+ years experience in wielding a sword, there was no defeating the dozen ruthless boys that surrounded them. That didn't stop the pair from trying, of course, but when Hook fell to his knees before the children, and shouted "RUN SWAN!" to her, she hesitated only a moment before obeying.

She prayed to whatever gods watched over this deceptively beautiful land that she could safely find her way back to the ship, that she could find the rest of their group, and lead them back to where she left Hook behind. The guilt she felt at leaving him at the beanstalk was _nothing_ compared to the guilt she felt now, even though he told her to go. She hadn't been running long before she heard an anguished cry, and a riotous cheer rise up behind her. It took every once of her being not to run back to him. But there was no helping him, no saving him now. If those little bastards were _that_ happy, there was no way Hook was still alive. Tears obscured her vision, but she kept running.

—

Killian struggled to stay upright. His vision swam from the burning pain in his shoulder. The cheers of the boys surrounding him rose and fell in volume as he fought to keep conciousness. He glanced around, but Emma was nowhere to be seen. Thank the gods. He didn't matter, _nothing_ mattered, as long as she got away, as long as she still had a chance to find her boy.

"Pay attention, pirate!" One of the elder boys stood before him, and the searing pain returned to his shoulder. He glanced at it; it was a sword, go figure. "So, your woman is gone." Killian looked up at the boy and grinned. That's his Swan. Of course the lass escaped. The boy flashed a grin of his own, and tossed something to the ground in front of Killian. The sword was removed from his shoulder, and he lurched forward, his hand and hook landing on either side of the object. He used his hook to lift the object from the ground, a chain with a circular pendant on the end. He knew this necklace. But why was it red? He frowned. "You misunderstand me, old friend! She didn't escape. She's dead!"

"NO!" Killian cried, struggling to get to his feet. The sword returned to his shoulder. His vision swam again, and the last thing he saw was a foot flying toward his face, before everything went black.

—

Emma burst out of the jungle, hours later. She was exhausted. She had blisters on her feet. She lost her jacket at some point, and her right arm was caked in dried blood, where one of the little bastards had grazed her with an arrow as she made her escape. Most of all, her heart ached. She stumbled onto the beach, and dropped to her knees at the waterline. She cupped water in her hands and splashed her face. She wanted to clean her arm, but didn't dare do that with the salt water. She could see Hook's ship, but she couldn't bring herself to close the distance.

It wasn't bad enough that with Hook, gone was their best chance of finding Henry. Hook was the only one who knew the lay of the land, who knew what plants were safe. He was the only one who could deal with mermaids, and pixies, and whatever other dangerously jealous female creatures the land held. It wasn't just their best chance that she lost, but also someone who'd become increasingly important to her, as their time in Neverland wore on. There was a connection between her and Hook, an understanding. And while her only goal, her primary concern, was finding her son, she couldn't deny that she was growing closer to the pirate captain. It surprised her when she realized she wasn't afraid of exploring that connection, of forging something stronger, when they returned home. Tears slid down her cheeks as she realized that they'd never get that chance. She heard shouts in the distance. She braced herself for another fight, and looked up to see a dark figure coming toward her. For one fleeting moment, she thought it was Hook. After a moment she realized it was not one, but two figures, and they were her parents.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret reached her first, and dropped down beside her. "You're hurt! What happened?" Emma choked back a sob as her mother wrapped her arms around her. "Where's Hook?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Dead."

"Oh, Emma." Mary Margaret hugged her daughter tighter. She knew something had been going on between Emma and Hook, and it killed her to see Emma broken like this. She had her walls built up so high, and she so rarely let anyone see her like this. "Let's get back to the ship, and get you cleaned up." She pulled Emma up with her, and held her arm around Emma's waist to help steady her as they walked. They only made it a few steps before Emma stumbled, and David swooped in to shoulder the weight on her other side. They walked down the beach in silence.

—

Killian knew, without opening his eyes, that it was dark. He tried to move, but he was bound with rope. The ground beneath him was hard, scratchy. He was certain he was in the same place he fell, surrounded by trees, leaves and under brush on the ground. He opened his eyes and confirmed his location, and was surprised to discover that he was alone. No brats to be seen. He tried to move again, testing the hold of the ropes, and the wound in his shoulder raged, tears sprang to his eyes. He had no idea why he was still alive. He had no will for it, certainly, knowing Emma was dead. She was his last chance for salvation. What point was there in going on, now?

The boy. Emma's son. Killian had to find him. The need to do this last thing for Emma suddenly burned in him, stronger than the drive for revenge had _ever_been. He began to struggle against his bonds in earnest. He would find the lad if it was the last thing he did. And he was certain it would be.

—

Emma laid on her side in Hook's bed, clutching his pillow to her chest. She'd fallen asleep there after Mary Margaret bandaged Emma's wounded arm. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but it had been long enough that she'd dreamed. She'd dreamed of _him_, of course. Of Hook. He was still alive, and she'd been so happy she'd flung her arms around his neck and sobbed. He held her, and whispered assurances in her ear, that he'd never leave her, not of his own free will. And if he was somehow forced away from her, he'd always find his way back to her. She woke crying, somehow expecting him to be there with her, and bitterly disappointed that she was alone.

She heard a gentle tapping at the door, and after a moment's hesitation, she bade the person behind the door to enter. She sat up, still clutching the pillow, as the door opened to reveal her mother. Mary Margaret crossed the room to the bed, and sat lightly on the edge next to Emma.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, taking one of Emma's hands away from the pillow, and holding it in her own. "You've been down here for over a day." Emma's eyes widened slightly. It hadn't felt like that long.

"I'm f-"

"Don't you dare say you're fine," Mary Margaret scolded. "You are _not_ fine. There's no way you would've broken down on the beach, been down here for so long, if you were fine. What was going on between you and Hook?" Emma tossed the pillow to the side and drew her knees up to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and sighed.

"Nothing was going on between Hook and I." Mary Margaret shot her a disbelieving look. "No, really. I mean, I guess he grew on me? I didn't want to punch him constantly. He made me smile when I didn't think it was possible any more. Sometimes I'd catch him looking at me like, like I wasn't just _the_ saviour, but like I was _his_ saviour."

"I noticed that." Mary Margaret gave her daughter a small smile. "I'm sorry he's gone, Emma."

"The thing is, it just doesn't _feel_ like he's gone. I don't know, it just feels like he's going to come back."

"I wish you were right." Mary Margaret leaned over and kissed Emma lightly on the forehead. "Come up when you're ready, we need to figure out what our next move is."

—

He'd passed out again. The exertion of trying to get himself untied, combined with his shoulder wound, and what he was fairly sure was a concussion caused by a boot to the head, had been to much for him. He could see the beginnings of light in the sky, through the trees. It was either sun down or sun rise, but he was so disoriented, he honestly couldn't tell which it was. Either way, he'd been unconsciousness far too long. He'd dreamed of his Swan, and that hurt even worse than the wound in his shoulder. She'd been crying, and he'd made promises that were impossible to keep. You can't keep a promise to never leave someone who was dead.

But he _could_ keep promises to himself, and he _would_. He began struggling again, finally catching his hook on the rope. He worked his hook back and forth for some time, finally breaking the rope. He pulled his arms away from his body a few times, loosening the rope enough that he could sit up, and it fell away from him. He glanced around trying to get his bearing before he stood. The sky was getting darker. That was concerning. The confrontation with the last boys had been in the afternoon. He's seen dark once since then, so it'd been at least a day and a half. He needed to get back to the ship, to tell Emma's family what had happened. Preferably before they decided to come looking for her.

He staggered to his feet and looked to the sky, to the appearing stars, for guidance. He would go north, and hope that his ship, and its passengers, were where he left them.

—

Emma stood on the deck of the ship gazing at the stars, and the dangerously beautiful land before her. She should be sleeping; she needed all the rest she could get, as in the morning they were going to seek out the Piccaninny tribe. Hook had steered them clear of the natives before, assuring them that they should only be approached as a last resort. They were a suspicious people, more likely to shoot first and not even bother asking questions. Not to mention that Hook had had some not entirely friendly encounters with them in the past. But here they were, and it was last resort time. They had no clue how to continue on without their guide, so it seemed their only option. Emma could only hope that the tribe would be a little more willing to help them if they were sans pirate. Though she'd take the pirate over the help of the natives in a heart beat.

More and more she was second guessing her decision to leave him behind. She had no reason to believe that he'd survived the fight with the lost boys, but she had no evidence to show that he hadn't. She looked up to the stars again, and saw a shooting star. It flared a bright blue, the colour of his eyes, before disappearing. And with that, she made her decision. She had to be sure. She had to find him.

—

Mary Margaret woke at first light. Something felt off, but she couldn't be sure. Her husband was still asleep beside her. She decided to let him sleep a little longer, and got up to wake her daughter. Emma was still sleeping in Hook's cabin. She wasn't surprised at that, really. She knew something had been happing between them, but she hadn't been sure, before, exactly what. She didn't think they'd even really admitted it to themselves. But she could tell. She recognized those looks they gave each other when they thought no one was looking. Those looks that spoke volumes without even saying a word. She hadn't told David, yet. She knew he'd step into protective father mode, and that was something she knew that Emma didn't need. Especially now, the the man that could very well have been her True Love was dead.

She reached the door to Hook's cabin, and knocked lightly. "Emma? It's morning. We need to prepare for the journey." She waited a moment, but after hearing no reply, she pushed the door open. "Emma, are you still -" She stopped abruptly, seeing the empty bed. It didn't even look like it had been slept in. A rational part of her mind told her that Emma had probably woken early, made her bed, and was waiting on deck for her. But a louder, more realistic voice told her that her daughter was gone.

She didn't even bother to check. She went back to the small room she'd been sharing with her husband, and shook him awake. "David." He only grunted in response. "David wake up. Emma's gone." That got a response out of him. He sat bolt upright, and looked at Mary Margaret, a bewildered expression on his face.

"What? Emma? Where?"

"She's gone to go find Hook."

"Hook?" David ran a hand over his face, confused in his barely awake state. "I thought he was dead? Why would she go looking for him? Why would she go_alone_?"

"I thought he was dead, too. Emma seemed pretty convinced of it, when we found her. But, David -" Mary Margaret hesitated, but she figured this was as good as any time to tell him. "I think she's in love with him."

"WHAT?!" She'd never seen David move so fast as he did then, launching off the bed and rushing around the small room, changing his shirt, latching his sword around his hips, and locating his boots. "How long have you known about this?"

"Um, since before we came here. _At least_ since he came back with the bean. But I've had a feeling about them since Emma and I were in the Enchanted Forest."

David gave a sigh, and finished pulling on his boots. "Well, we have to find her. And if she's so sure that Hook's still alive, then we'll help her find him, too."

—

Killian stumbled out of the forest at daybreak. The forest had grown so thick that he'd lost all track of direction and time. Now that he was out of the forest and close to the beach, so could see the sun rising. He'd ended up going east. There was no sign of his ship. He'd walk along the beach and hope for the best. He was dizzy and disoriented, the loss of blood and the concussion doing absolutely nothing to help him. He dropped to the ground; the sand was cool and the sun hadn't risen enough to make the day uncomfortable yet.

"I'll just rest for a bit," he said to no one, laying back on the sand, amazed how soft it felt beneath his head. Everything went dark before he even shut his eyes.

—

"Killian!" It was the voice of his Swan. How he managed to meet her in the heavens, he didn't dare ask. He knew he belonged in hell. But he'd take it. If he couldn't be alive with her, he'd be more than happy to have his time with her in the after life.

—

David and Mary Margaret broke into a run down the shoreline, the two figures in the distance becoming clearer. Hook, flat on the ground and unmoving, Emma on her knees and hunched over him. Tears stung Mary Margaret's eyes as the got closer. She hoped they weren't too late.

"What happened?" David called out as they approached the pair on the ground. Emma looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears.

"He's alive, but, I don't know for how much longer. He's been stabbed in the shoulder, he seems like he's lost a lot of blood."

Mary Margaret knelt next to Emma, and dropped her bag between them. "Let me help you." She opened the bag and removed clean strips of cloth and a flask. She took a pocket knife out and used it to cut the bloody shirt away from Hook's shoulder. Emma took the flask and opened it, pouring a generous amount over the wound. Hook groaned, but didn't move otherwise. Mary Margaret took the flask from Emma, and handed her some of the strips of cloth. Emma packed the wound, and did her best to wrap the strips over his shoulder and around his arm to keep the bandage in place. Hook's eyes opened just a fraction, and his hand went up slowly, touching her cheek.

"Hey beautiful." His hand fell away from her face and he was completely still.

—

He opened his eyes, and was completely confused to find himself on his ship, in his bed. He'd been certain he was dead. He remembered seeing Emma, hearing her voice, but he realized it must have been delusion, a hallucination brought on by his injuries. He started to sit up, but quickly thought better of it, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Though it pained him, it certainly wasn't as bad as it had been when he was escaping the forest. He was alive. He knew he should be glad of it, but he'd been happy genuinely happy, when he though he was dead, when he thought he was with her.

He heard footsteps outside his door, and readied himself for an interrogation from Emma's family. He only hoped it would be her mother, and not her father. They wouldn't be so cruel as to patch him up, just to let the prince kill him, would they? The door opened, and he sucked in a breath in shock. It was neither Snow White, nor Prince Charming. It wasn't even the Crocodile, or the Queen. Stepping in to his cabin and closing the door behind her was the golden haired angel herself. _Emma_.

"Oh, I really am dead." He gave a humourless laugh. "And it's not even heaven as I thought, it's hell. A special hell, just for me." Emma sat on the edge of his bed, and gave him a puzzled look.

"Why would this be hell?"

"Because I can't tell delusion from reality. I decide I'm dead, and I appear to be alive. I decide I'm alive, and I appear to be dead. And you're always there. And I -" He stopped when Emma put her hand on his cheek.

"You're alive, Killian, I promise."

"Liar. You'd never call me 'Killian' if I were alive. It'd be 'Hook,' or 'Jones,' at best." He made to move his face away from her hand, but she caught his other cheek with her other hand. She cradled his face, and leaned in close to him.

"I thought you were dead. I heard you cry out, and those little bastards started cheering, and I thought they killed you. And I knew I couldn't help you, I couldn't help _anyone_, if I ran back to you, Because they'd kill me too. So I fought _every_instinct I had, and ran from you." She took a shuddering breath, the exhale warming Killian's face. "And after I came back here, without you, I regretted it. Something in me told me that I was wrong to assume you were dead. I could_feel_ it, that you were still alive out there. So I went looking for you. And I swore to myself that if I found you, I'd stop running. From this, from us, from whatever has been growing between us since we met. That's why you're Killian, to me, not 'Hook' and not 'Jones.' And I _swear_ to you that you're alive."

Emma started to move away from Killian, but he caught her wrist with his good hand, and pulled her down until their foreheads met. "I'm not dreaming?"

"No."

"And I'm not dead."

"Neither of us are dead," she laughed.

"Well then," he grinned. If he wasn't dead, and neither was she, he was damn well going to celebrate. He snaked his hand around the back of Emma's neck, and she closed the gap between them with a kiss.


End file.
